


Dusk in Autumn

by FallenGabriella



Category: Don't Breathe (2016)
Genre: I've Clearly Lost My Mind, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Someone stop me, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, what even is this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 15:33:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17206037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenGabriella/pseuds/FallenGabriella
Summary: Alex's mom always told him he was special. He just can't help but wish he never was...





	Dusk in Autumn

His mom had called him special. His father had too, at first, but the more he remembered, the more he realized his dad had always given him that look. The one that said: fear, whether for Alex himself, or what would become of them if someone found out he didn’t know; confusion, still unsure of where the ‘gift’ had come from, but as the years wore on he could hardly call it one; pity, for the black eyes he was given, and the whispered words his classmates spoke behind his back.

His dad had tried, he supposed, in hindsight. He’d wanted the best for him, but also told him to stay far away from hospitals, nursing homes, and everywhere in between. They didn’t need a repeat of Sara Hamilton. Alex still winced when she was brought up, the initial terror of discovery giving way to a fresh layer of guilt. She’d looked crazy. They’d made her look stupid, like a silly, silly girl, but Alex felt even stupider for being so scared of a girl in a wheelchair.

She was sweet, liked to bake, and donated every cake she made to the local orphanage. Sara had made straight A’s and always had the best science projects, the coolest mom… Alex could still clearly recall Mrs. Hamilton’s face, the look of sympathy she’d given her daughter as she embraced her, petted her, and the tears she’d shed for him too. She had apologized to _him_ … Told him that Sara was prone to idle fantasies, especially as a little girl, and that it shouldn’t bother him that she would be home schooled from then on. That none of it was his fault.

As soon as he got home, he went straight to his room, and sat on the edge of his bed. He’d stared at his hands for hours. An eleven-year-old sobbing like a little kid. He remembered curling them, nails biting into his hands till they were crusted in red. His dad hadn’t said a word to him, fixing breakfast for dinner because it was all he could do without burning everything. He’d knocked on his door so quietly he nearly hadn’t heard him. The eggs tasted too bitter, growing cold on his desk as he stared at the ceiling. He didn’t sleep that night.

After that he became meticulous, hyper aware of people with problems, and those without. Either way, he wore gloves as often as he could. Even if they itched with sweat on the hot days, and chafed his wrists. Rocky had been so curious one day, she decided to pull them off, the old horror surfacing, but she’d admired how soft they were. He barely noticed, heart fluttering rapidly as she traced the lines along his smooth palms. His face burned when she compared them to a girl’s. Even more reason to never take them off.

That was why he was in a back room, the leather plugging his nostrils, and scraping across his mouth as he tried so hard not to breathe. Death was just waiting for him to fuck up, to cry out or whimper, but he wasn’t that stupid. He wasn’t so brainless to bring a gun to a veteran’s house, but he also wasn’t smart enough to outwit a blind one with nothing to lose. And enough physical strength to break down doors, and powerhouse through having a shelf fall on him. Right about now, jammed between a small table, and a rickety iron chair that threatened to scrape the floor at the tiniest twitch. Across from the dead body of the stupidest accomplice in history… He lamented never taking those swimming lessons his dad had wanted to sign him up for.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck…_

His mind wandered. Even as his eyes stayed closed tight, lungs contracting, fighting the need for air with the fear pounding through his veins. Alex just wanted to survive. Rocky must have already slipped out by now, right? The vent must have led to a window, another tunnel. Someplace she could either escape from or hole up in until the blind man lost interest. He’d have snorted if he could breathe. Right, what was he, a bear? A dog suited him better. Not like the rottweiler that had sent him through the skylight, but a massive, wolfish looking thing.

Alex felt a few, precious bubbles of air slip through his fingers, greedily inhaled through his nose. The leather squeaked in the stillness, his eyes bulging when he realized. His hand fell away, gaze darting around the room. To the doorway, and back to –

It happened in less than a moment. The hammer in his hand enough to take out the threat of the gun, but not the fists that tightened around his neck again. His head smashed against something that dug into his eye. His temple. He could feel the blood welling, the agony ringing through his head.

When he slammed him against the shelves, all he could do was gag and flail. His gloves twisted over the other’s wrists as he fought for precious breath. His neck burned, skin pulled taught and flaring with enough pain to speckle his vision, if his lack of air didn’t. Then, it happened. He could see it – the splinters of blue in the veteran’s eyes. They flared bright and vibrant. His grip loosened, just barely. His steel brow furrowed, drawing in the lines of scars. Alex could only watch in muted agony as the shards knitted themselves back together.

 _Crash!_ He didn’t know how he’d managed to grab the bottle. The shards glittered in the older man’s hair as he yelled. Air. Precious and fleeting, sucked between his iron tasting teeth. He reared back, and Alex took his chance. He lurched through the door, stumbling on his hands and knees through the glass still on the kitchen floor. He hissed, gulped in another breath. His chest heaved even as he broke into a sprint. Alex’s vision continued to swirl, the muted colors of the faded wallpaper leaving strange patterns in his head. His hands fumbled along it, the texture strange against –

His hand. His hand. Cool and bumpy, feathered with dust. Why had he left the gun? He could have grabbed it. Should have taken it, finished all the madness before it escalated.

 _Escalated_? _Escalated_?! _Fuck the money_ , _fuck it all_ – _wait_. _Blood_ , _my blood_ – _traces here and there_. _Fuck that_ , _fuck it_. _Just look at the basement_! _At Cindy_!

That had been her name, right? The girl trapped and alone. In the dark, scrambling. He wondered if she’d hoped or prayed. He wondered if she’d given up on ever being found, on being rescued and set free. Alex’s vision hazed, throat working against him. He wondered, briefly, what was worse: a decade in prison with no prospects and no family left to turn to? Or being murdered and buried in the back of a crazed war veteran’s backyard?

Alex staggered left, into an adjacent room. He pressed himself into the wall, shaking so hard his teeth almost gave him away. He clamped them shut, locking his jaw for what felt like the hundredth time that night. The old fear fed into the first, his tongue itchy and hot against the roof of his mouth. He’d touched him. He’d **touched** him.

 _It was only a few seconds_. It had felt like centuries. Alex lifted his feet from the floor, careful and slow. He pulled them up, pressing his knees in under his chin. _Don_ ’ _t think about it_ – _don_ ’ _t_. He wasn’t sure what they’d looked like. They were too deep for the sky, but too bright for the ocean. If he wasn’t trying so hard not too breathe too loudly, wedging himself in beside what he assumed was a short table, or praying beyond all hope that his ‘gift’ wouldn’t come to bite him in the ass like it usually did… He might have kicked himself. Now was really not the best time to be trying to find something to compare the veteran’s eyes too.

But his adrenaline addled brain, hazy with fatigue, latched onto the notion with a desperation that almost left him cross-eyed. He tried to count to ten, to remember some crazy new amendment that he’d read in the latest paralegal journal he’d read. The childish idea of getting home just to shower and crawl into his bed to sleep for the next year crossed his mind before he could stop it. To be fair, it sounded like the single best idea he’d had in a year. Following Rocky and Money around for some quick cash to get into law school – the irony had never been lost on him – was certainly shaping up to be the worst.

 _Stop lying to yourself_. Some distant, dark part of himself snarled from the darkness. He swore it had eyes. Or maybe it was just the beginning of the concussion he no doubt had from being tackled through a window by a fucking rottweiler. They were blue. Like lightning? Maybe even ice? Both suited them in his opinion. Alex sneered at the fact that his subconscious was taking on the form of a man who was probably going to murder him before the night was over. Its voice was deep and raspy too. _Pulling out all the stops_ , _huh_? Alex curled up all the harder. He swore he could hear footsteps again.

 _Guess I deserve it_ …

Not just for the ‘lying to himself part’. Though he’d done a lot of that lately. For being a pushover. For convincing himself it was for Rocky’s sister. That somehow, by doing this, she’d see he was the better choice.

 _Choice_? _What choice_? She’d known how he felt since high school, hell, even before that. Four boyfriends later and he was still the last choice. Despite shared lunches, sneaking out on school nights, or getting her smokes so she could light up under some distant streetlight.

He still remembered that. It was cold, despite being April, and his breath fogged before his face to warm the end of his raw nose. It kept running and he kept rubbing at it. Rocky’s nose was just as red, but he swore she never really sniffled. Her hair was brown back then, hanging in her eyes. She only had two tattoos that he knew of, that she’d showed him. The orange light, droning and faded above them, had made it look copper. Rocky hated it. She kept talking about how she was going to have it cut and dyed. She did that winter. Alex always thought she was cute. Pretty and funny, crafty and with just the right amount of kindness. Even after she ditched him to go hang out with boyfriend number two: a goth-sort of guy named Dustin who always put his hoodie over her.

It didn’t matter how much Diddy liked him either. How many times he watched her over the weekends or made sure she had something to eat. The effort he put in just… wasn’t worth it. Alex bit back a sneer, stomach roiling with the icy tide of regret and disgust. Self-loathing joined the fray, his lashes flicking as he blinked back tears. Even the patter of them might draw in the predator. A girl who had never looked at him twice… and he’d just rushed in.

 _Was she worth dying for_?

Alex’s teeth crushed his bottom lip, iron mixing with the stale tang of copper on his tongue. He looked up, peering into the gloom which seemed to grow thicker and heavier. He was stifling but he couldn’t move. The silence so thick his ears throbbed with the rush of his own blood, begging for a reprieve from the stillness.

 _Not even close_.

The sob worked its way into his throat, halted by fear and rage. Alex closed his eyes, raising his ungloved hand to press silently against the side of his neck. He jumped at the sensation, familiar and foreign all at once, and grit his teeth as his nails gouged the tender flesh of his throat. Alex held tight, focusing on the five sharp pains that connected into one steady throb along his collar. He needed to stay awake. Focused and alert –

Forehead on his knee. He hadn’t even heard it. Now he could feel it. Alex’s whole body tensed, knees tight and coiled. His eyes snapped open, a shudder wracking his shoulders as he raised his head.

Ice. They were ice and pain.

And they were watching him from the doorway.

**Author's Note:**

> So... Here's a thing. Okay, in all fairness, someone should have stopped me ages ago. *Side eyes my pal: Eonneo.* But, since she can't stop me, this thing has been born.
> 
> Yeah, let's ship the villain and the guy he shot in the back about 5-6 times. That's healthy, right? Right.
> 
> To be fair, Alex is a sweet, pure cinnamon roll and no one can convince me otherwise. Does he have faults? Yes, glorious, blaring faults that I love to highlight, but he's also incredibly sweet and deserved so much more. Final-girl? Please, give me Final-Boy Alex.
> 
> Or, in this case, Alex whose going to have to deal with a psycho Blind Man who he may or may not end up shagging at some point. And just so you all know, that's code for: "they're totally going to shag. 10000% totally going to shag somewhere in the future."
> 
> I promise there will be some amount of slow burn... or maybe I'll just douse you guys in lava and call it quits. Who knows!


End file.
